


love with every stranger (the stranger the better)

by barelylegalharry



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Excessive Drinking, Fluff and Humor, Happy Valentines Day!, Implied Relationships, M/M, Making Out, Nicknames, Polyamory, The Styles Triplets, and harrys sad for like three seconds, drunk boy kissing another drunk boy, edward calls louis nicknames, its not nice to make fun of people he is very rude, some kisses here and there, trigger warning for drunk boy kissing sober boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelylegalharry/pseuds/barelylegalharry
Summary: It’s clear that they are perfect copies of each other: same eyes, same dimples, same weird noses, and same lips. But it’s also clear that in reality there’s only one of them and Louis’ just drunk enough to have double vision. Or triple vision, in this case.or, the one where Harry is the responsible parent, Marcel is the Dopey Dwarf, Edward isn't qualified for babysitting and Louis' too drunk to realize there are three of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turnerocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnerocks/gifts).



> this is for my one and only girl, because she loves styles triplets and i love her. happy valentines day my love. hope this is what you wanted (i know it isnt but you love me too much to say otherwise) 
> 
> big love to [V](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vickymouse) for being my hero and [thebestfansinhelp](http://thebestfansinhelp.tumblr.com/) for the incredible beta work. thank you so much for making my baby beautiful, you're an angel. 
> 
> this is my first time writing in english and all remaining mistakes are my own.  
> title is from hozier's 'someone new'

 

* * *

**FIRST**

Louis is four drinks in when he sees him.

**_11:45 pm_ **

He is hyper-aware that he is about to play with fire. Quite literally, he notes, looking over the tray of Fireball whisky shots waiting to be chugged. He should probably give up and accept defeat, but Niall’s eyes are shining with mischief and Louis is not a quitter.

So he picks up two and downs them before he can change his mind. It’s an actual taste of hell. The liquid sears its way down his throat to his stomach while leaving a trail of lingering pain. He takes a moment to blink his eyes a few times, checking if he’s gone blind. He hasn’t. But his entire body feels like it’s on fire. He suddenly thinks of the fire-breather he saw at a circus when he was about six. The whole performance was definitely exciting for his child-wide eyes back then, but right now all he can think about is punching Niall in the fucking face.

“Fuck me,” he half shouts, as he glares at his evil best friend. “You’re a dead man walking.”

Niall, obviously not so affected by his threat, just laughs and hands him two more. “Shots, shots, shots shots shots shots!”

He hears their group of friends pick up the tune, chant-singing along with Niall as he drinks more whisky shots. Another fiery path of pain makes its way through his stomach and _sweet mother of Jesus_. He has to officially be a dragon by now.

He is also the most drunk he has been in a while.

See, the worst thing about getting really shitfaced at a frat party is that it’s like everyone around you is just waiting to take advantage of your drunken stupidity. You never remember in the morning how you ripped off pieces of your favourite shirt and made everyone wear them as headbands in an attempt at forming an Aerosmith tribute band, or how you swallowed three of the buttons and then threw them up in your left shoe. But there’s always someone who’s filmed the whole thing and is more than willing to share it on their Facebook account.

As a person who has gone through this several times, Louis doesn’t quite understand himself for getting caught up in Niall’s stupid challenges again. He knows better than that, for sure. He also knows that he is a stubborn shit with a sense of pride bigger than his own arse so, there’s that.

“Told ya!” he hears Niall’s delighted voice as he wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulder. “Fire can not kill a dragon.”

Louis wants to shake off his arm but he thinks better of it and decides to rest against Niall to keep his head up. He is _that_ drunk. “I will burn everything that you know,” he tries to say but doesn’t know if he actually got the words right. Niall doesn’t really look bothered but he is probably just being his careless self, so Louis can’t be sure.

Niall reaches for more shots, but Louis most definitely knows better this time. He needs to leave their group, maybe find somewhere he can get actual oxygen instead of Niall’s armpit sweat. That sounds like a lovely idea. He tries to push out from Niall’s arm. “Get off of me.”

“Where are ya goin’?” He feels Niall’s grip getting a bit stronger, but he stands up on his wobbly legs anyway. “You’re steaming drunk, Lou.”

Louis just gives him a dirty look and Niall lets go without another word. “I need some air,” he says and tries to leave without giving anyone trouble but ends up hurting Niall’s injured knee, elbowing Liam in the stomach, and getting shrieks out of Luke a couple times.

After that he somehow manages to not step on anyone’s hands or feet despite the room feeling like it was full of drunk twister players, and quickly makes an exit, walking in the direction he thinks the balcony is in. He really needs some fresh air. He is light-headed and feels dizzy with the Fireball running through his veins. It’s like the whole house is turning around him. His stomach is fine for now but you never know with these intoxicating drinks.

When he reaches the balcony door without falling or tripping over, he considers himself very lucky. Until he realizes that it is, in fact, not the balcony door. Before he can figure out where he is though, he bumps into someone and everything starts losing its meaning.

So, Louis is four drinks in when he sees him. And everything goes batshit crazy after that.

 

**_00:01 am_ **

“What the _fuck_?” Harry can’t help but shout when a body hits him out of nowhere, dragging him down with its weight. Luckily, he was uncharacteristically quick to get a hold of the man and keep them both upright. He knows he just sounded a bit rude, but it doesn’t hurt to look where you’re going in a crowded place like this so. It really wasn’t his fault. Also the guy came in like a wrecking ball, it was kind of an instinct.

“Are you okay?” is his second question. He tries to look at the guy’s face, still holding him up by the arms. He can only see soft looking fringe resting on his forehead, unbelievably long eyelashes, and a pointy nose that is currently pressed against Harry’s own pink shirt. He doesn’t look okay. He looks wasted. Probably too drunk to even stand on his own. He looks around to see if this guy is alone or if he has someone to escort him to the bathroom, but sees no one. He is about to shake the man to his senses and see if he is awake when he hears a soft voice saying “ _Hi_.”

“Hello,” he says, kind enough this time. “Can you stand up?”

The guy tries to stand on his feet but fails miserably, so Harry doesn’t let go of him. “You can’t. Alright.”

He takes a deep breath and for a second thinks of carrying him to an empty couch to get him some water but changes his mind as soon as he looks at the crowded dance floor right in front of them. He’d have an easier time counting the each hair on his head. So he turns back to the bathroom, carefully carries the guy with him, and seats him on the closed toilet lid as best as he can.

The guy murmurs something unintelligible, his arms and legs spread across the seat like jelly. He opens his eyes for a moment to see what’s going on, and piercing blue eyes fix on Harry almost immediately. Harry feels his gaze on his face and tries to think what he should do next. He can’t really do much on his own since the guy can’t even walk so he decides to ask him. Just when he is about to open his mouth the guy whispers something like “petty”.

Harry lowers himself to hear him better. “Sorry, mate. Couldn’t catch that.”

“ _Pretty,_ ” he says, loud and clear this time but his drunkenness is still audible in his voice. “You’re...very _pretty._ ”

Harry can’t help but be surprised at that. He bites back a smile. “Thank you,” he says

while sitting himself on the edge of the bathtub. “You’re with friends? Do you want me to call someone for you?”

“Your lips,” the guy says, looking possibly at Harry’s lips. He says nothing else though. Just tha 

Harry stares at him, questioning. “What about my lips?”

“Are they real?” he asks with great sincerity. Like he is actually considering that Harry’s lips may not be real.

He furrows his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t they be real?”

“They look soft. Like clouds.”

Harry actually laughs at that. “You’re so gone.”

The guy purses his lips and smiles like he knows how true that is.

At that, Harry takes another deep breath because he doesn’t really know what to do with him, so he goes for one more hopeful attempt. “I need to know who to call. Can’t really leave you alone in here, mate.”

“Can you-” The man tries to sit up but quickly gives up and rests his back on the cold porcelain again. “Can you get me to the balcony?”

Harry then realizes how sweaty he looks and how he could probably use some clean air. It should be a bit tricky to get him to the balcony since it’s upstairs, but with extra hands and a little luck they can probably make it.

He swiftly takes his phone out of his back pocket and dials his brother’s number.

“‘Ello?” Edward’s voice can hardly be heard over the loud music of the house.

“I’m in the bathroom and I need some help. Can you come over here?” he says into the speaker.

“Y’alright, H?”

Harry stares at the blue eyed stranger for a moment and breathes through his nose. “I’m okay. Just come here, quick.” He ends the call, pocketing his phone again.

The man mumbles something but it’s too quiet to make out, so Harry pretends like he didn’t hear anything. Instead he asks, “Can you at least tell me your name?”

“Louis,” says the stranger, with too much effort, like it hurts him to think. Shiny sweat is visible underneath his feathery fringe.

Harry bites the inside of his lip. “Nice to meet you, Louis. I’m Harry, and I need you to stand up so I can get you to the balcony like you asked.” He stops to see if he understood any of that.

Louis looks like he did for a second, but then he asks, “Can I touch your lips?”

Alright, this might take some work.

Harry sighs and puts an arm around his waist to get him up. There’s an ache in his lower back but he ignores it as he helps the guy stand on his feet. Thank god, his brother comes to his rescue just in time.

“Who the hell is this?” Edward asks, confusion spread all over his face. He is standing next to the bathroom door, trying to figure out what his brother is doing wrapped around a dead looking frat boy in a gross fraternity bathroom of all places.

“Just some drunk who crashed on me.” Harry tries to say under Louis’ weight. “Give me a hand, would you?”

Edward doesn’t rush to obey but he eventually grabs Louis’s left arm and wraps it around his shoulder to help Harry carry him. “Where are we taking him?”

Harry looks at Louis’ unfocused face for a short second, not really sure what to do next. “To the balcony,” he says before he can change his mind and leave the man unconscious in the bathtub.

 

**_00:15 am_ **

Louis thanks his lucky stars when a wave of fresh air hits him in the face. It feels like someone doused the fire burning inside his body. He has no idea what happened in the last fifteen minutes but he knows it involved something pink and soft. There was this man with crazy hair and lovely green eyes who sounded like melted caramel to his ears when he spoke. He remembers his soft touch, lopsided grin, and something incredibly fascinating. Something like... _dimples_? He isn’t sure if he made that up, if he was a creature of Louis’ wild imagination or just a vivid hallucination. But somehow he is now on the balcony, surrounded by clean air and a floral perfume.

Someone smells like flowers. Who the fuck smells like flowers?

“It’s called soap,” a grumpy voice answers from his side and Louis was not supposed say that out loud. He tries to look at the grumpy voice but trips over his own feet in the process and nearly takes all three of them to the ground.

All _three_. Right.

There is someone else on his other side and he is... He is the one with the hair and _dimples_!

“Oh, it’s you again,” he speaks in a happy murmur. “ _Sugar lips_.”

He hears the sound of a snort coming from his left. He is a bit surprised to find the same guy there as well. Funny how your mind works when you’re intoxicated, honestly. “And you too,” he says to the other one.

Something doesn’t quite add up here but Louis is way too far gone to care. He just wants to enjoy the fresh air and maybe touch the pretty boy’s lips once or twice.

Well, definitely _twice_. Because there are two of them so it’s only fair that he touches each.

Louis feels strong hands around his arms and then he is seated on a chair. He is still on the balcony, chilly air easing his mind and body in the best way possible. Definitely better than the disgusting smell that is Niall Horan.

“Now,” one of them says, trying to get his attention by waving a hand in front of his face. “Will you tell me who to call?”

Louis probably knows the answer to that but the boy’s lips are so fucking plump that he just can’t waste an opportunity to see them moving. So he kind of forgets to pay attention to the question he was asked. He blames his head that is currently clouded with alcohol. And this boy’s goddamn beautiful lips for that matter.

“Doesn’t he have a phone on him?” the other other one asks and _holy shit on a stick_ . There’s another one of them but with a different hairdo. It’s less curly and definitely shorter than the others’. He is also wearing grandpa glasses like some kind of walking nerd joke. But he is kneeling in front of Louis, and he has the exact same lips so Louis wants to _touch_. Therefore, he leans in, because he wants to be close to Clark Kent with better lips. But someone snaps immediately.

“Calm down, Drunkback Mountain. You need to sober up.”

When Louis lifts his gaze he sees one of the other two holding out a water bottle in front of Louis’ face. He looks peeved, features pinched in a mixture of annoyance and boredom. He is also standing next to the one with the glasses. The Glassed and Furious, Louis thinks. And laughs to himself. Really glad that he is still funny even after he gets drunk.

Next thing he knows, he is taking sips out of a very cold water bottle while three identical faces are staring at him like he’s some kind of puzzle. Throughout a strange minute of silence cut only by the occasional slurp and crackle of plastic from the water bottle, Louis pays a great deal of attention to them for the first time that night. It’s clear that they are perfect copies of each other: same eyes, same dimples, same weird noses, and same _lips_. But it’s also clear that in reality there’s only one of them and Louis’ just drunk enough to have double vision. Or triple vision, in this case.

“What are we gonna do? Look after him all night? I mean, who doesn’t have a _phone_??” one of them asks.

_ I have a phone _ , Louis wants to say,  _ It must be in Niall’s pocket because he wanted to take pictures of me ruining my life with alcohol to prove that I’m the human embodiment of stupidity and bad decisions _ , but that’s just too long.

“We can’t just leave him like this,” another one answers 

“He is not our responsibility, Haz.”

Louis doesn’t even try to keep up with their conversation as another wave of cold air hits his body and he shivers, his teeth chattering loudly.

“Great, now he’s cold.” The grumpy one--Louis decides to call him that--speaks, like Louis’ not sitting right in front of him. He tries to glare at him but he doesn’t know if it’s working, he can’t really control his own facial expressions at the moment.

 _Spectacles_ \--or Speckles for short, he is the one with the glasses--takes off his jacket and wraps it around Louis’ shoulders. “There you go,” he says. “Hope it’s better now.”

Louis decides he likes Speckles more than Grumpy. He at least speaks _to_ Louis, instead of acting like he is not present.

Just when he is about open his mouth and tell them exactly that, another one beats him to the conversation. “You want to go inside and find your friends?”

That’s when Louis realizes that he is the original one. The one who was in the bathroom with him, pink and soft looking. Very kind and pretty. Now _that_ one is his favourite.

“ _‘arry_!” he says cheerfully. “I remember you.”

Harry smiles. He is really charming. “That’s good, Louis. Can you answer my question?”

“On one condition.” Louis holds one finger up and desperately hopes it’s the right one.

Harry breathes deeply once but smiles again. “I’m all ears.”

Louis points his finger in the direction of Grumpy. “Get the Grumpy Dwarf away from me.”

Someone laughs really loudly at that. Louis thinks it’s Speckles.

“Who are you calling a dwarf? Have you seen yourself??”

Harry, looking like he’s trying not to laugh, briefly touches Grumpy on the elbow like he’s tying to calm him down. “Come on, Ed.”

Grumpy rolls his eyes once, puts his hands in his pockets and gives Louis an unpleasant look.

“I really don’t like him,” Louis tells Speckles.

Speckles giggles adorably, “Don’t tell him that. He is a sensitive one at heart,” he says and helps Louis get up from his chair. Louis actually feels a little bit better, fine enough to walk by himself. But he is cold and Speckles feels really warm pressed against his body so he let’s him wrap one arm around his waist. “You’re the better clone, Window Face,” he whispers.

“Thanks.” Speckles holds him tighter as they start walking towards the loud place again. Louis can hear Harry and Grumpy chattering behind them. He can’t make out the words but hears his name once.

Then they enter the house and he can’t hear a word over the loud music.

 

**_00:47 am_ **

“Do you need anything?” Marcel asks for the third time, because he’s polite, and also this one here seems really out of his mind. Like, he could’ve been dying of thirst but he’d still say something absurd like “Are you wearing chapstick?” or “Do you have lip injections?”

And they have already gone through those questions a couple times before. Marcel really doesn’t know what is with his lip obsession. He just can’t seem to shut up about it.

“What I need, Speckles,” Louis says as he makes some room on the couch for Marcel to sit. “Is for you to come sit next to me.”

Marcel frowns like he is confused before sitting down next to him. “ _Speckles_?”

Louis wastes no time resting his tired looking head on Marcel’s shoulder. “Well, you’re not like any other dwarf so that’s your name.”

“My name is Marcel, actually.”

Louis sighs. “Whatever you say, Speckles.”

It didn’t take much to understand that Louis was a bit of a needy drunk. He’s been wanting attention from anyone he could get his hands on for the last thirty minutes. And right now, it’s Marcel because Harry went downstairs to ask around if anyone knew of a ‘very drunk lad with blue eyes named Louis,’ and Edward fucked off about ten minutes ago to do God knows what. So, that leaves Marcel with the drunk boy, casually playing party mum until his brothers come back and take the lad to his friends.

“You could’ve named me Dopey.” he says all of a sudden. Startling a possibly sleeping Louis. “I’m quite dopey sometimes.”

Louis makes a sound, like he wants to laugh but has no energy to do so. “You’re not dopey,” he murmurs.

Marcel smiles. “You’re sleepy.”

“Yeah, you can call me the Sleepy Dwarf.”

“Don’t sleep now, though. Your friends will be here any second.”

Louis takes a deep breath as he rests his chin on Marcel’s shoulder and looks up at him drowsily. Marcel pushes his fringe out of his eyes with one finger and Louis closes his eyes, a content smile takes over his features. Marcel tries to keep his eyelids open with his fingertips.

“Come on,” he says, poking him in the face. “You can’t just sleep on me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to keep you awake until Harry comes back.”

Louis opens his eyes at that and stays quiet for a long minute, meanwhile observing Marcel bluntly. “Why do you have hair different than the others’?” he asks.

Marcel gives him a side glance with a tiny smirk before he answers. “The better to impress you with.”

“There are no dwarfs in Little Red Riding Hood,” Louis says, smiling again.

Marcel’s eyes linger on the curve of his smile for a moment, and he forgets where they are and what situation they are actually in.

The room is full of people playing, drinking, and making out with each other on the couches. There is music all over the place but it isn’t as loud as it was before, the only loud noise coming from some pledges playing beer pong at the back of the room. And then there’s Louis, who is nothing but very inviting and very drunk. Drunk enough to think that Marcel is Harry’s clone. 

“You have really pretty eyes.” he tells Louis before he can stop himself.

He hears a grunt come from Louis. “You were right,” he says.

Marcel tries not to look too panicked, suddenly realizing their faces are very close. “About what?”

Louis looks unabashedly at his lips as he says, “I should’ve named you Dopey.”

Then kisses him.

 

**_01:11 am_ **

Edward was actually having fun because that’s what he came here to do in the first place. That was, until his useless brother called him and ruined everything with his enthusiasm for protecting drunk boys he randomly finds in the bathrooms. But _Edward_ is out tonight, and he isn’t in the mood for taking responsibility for a restless drunk, so: he is going to have fun until he passes out. He has decided this.

He is actually sipping on his second drink while mindlessly chatting up girls in the kitchen when his phone starts ringing loudly. He knows it’s Marcel. He has the annoying _You’ve Got a Friend In Me_ song as his ringtone. Edward has no idea how he does it but every time he tries to change it into an AC/DC song, Marcel finds a way to change it back to this stupid tune.

So he takes a deep breath and excuses himself as he takes his phone out of his pocket.

“What do you want?”

“Can you come over here?”

Hearing the same sentence for the second time, Edward immediately rolls his eyes. “Are you still with that drunk smurf?”

“I think it’s better if you stay with him for a while.”

Something is off with his voice, and that’s not like Marcel so Edward leaves the kitchen with a deep sigh. “Where the fuck is Harry?” he scolds into the speaker. He really isn’t in the mood for that Louis kid, he just wants to enjoy his night. Why is it getting harder to have fun with every passing second?

“I don’t know. Louis’ just fallen asleep on the couch.”

Edward sighs again. “Great,” he says and ends the call. It doesn’t take him long to find Louis sleeping next to his stressed looking brother.

He walks up to them and gives Marcel a questioning look as he stands in front of the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to go to the loo. It’s your turn to watch him,” Marcel says, a little too quick and uncertain. It’s obvious that he’s lying but there’s a blush on his face and he looks bewildered, like he really needs a little time off. So, Edward let’s him get away with it.

He just stands there, waiting for Marcel to get up from his seat carefully so they don’t wake the smashed Oompa Loompa up. Then Edward sits down in Marcel’s place, which Louis apparently loves to rest up against, going by the fact that right after he sits down, there’s a sleeping head and a drooling mouth on his shoulder.

“Why is he doing this?” he asks to Marcel but finds him already gone. He doesn’t know why his brother’s acting so weird-- he is usually more sensible than this. Although actually, looking down at the sleeping pain in the arse, he perfectly understands why his reasonable little brother lost a little bit of his sense. God knows what kind of awful scene this one created before he passed out from talking so much rubbish.

Edward sighs as he takes his phone out of his pocket to call Harry. He picks up on the second ring.

“When will I be freed from this prison?” Edward asks in lieu of a greeting. He stretches back and puts his feet on the coffee table in front of him, the movement shaking Louis off a little but Edward really can’t be arsed to care. His shoulder is going numb and he is gonna need it later, thank you very much.

“I take it you’re not in the kitchen.”

“Marcel wanted a break from his watch. He was all weird about it.”

He hears shuffling and music from the other end. “I thought they were getting along.”

“Seems like this bloody drunkard managed to craze our calm and composed brother,” Edward scoffs into the speaker. “Are you surprised? I’m not surprised.”

Harry sounds really bored when he says, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please try to keep him alive.”

“Don’t worry, your Polly Pocket is safe,” He stops for a moment just to be dramatic. “- _for now_.”

“He is not my-” Harry stops midsentence when he hears Edward snickering. “Oh, piss the hell off.”

Then the call is over, and once again Edward is alone with the fun-sized Jack Daniels currently drooling on his shoulder.

“Can’t get any worse than this,” he whispers to himself. And suddenly, Louis wakes up and _yes_ , it _can_.

“Did you just call me…” he starts, blinking his sleepy eyes. “Polly Pocket?”

“What? You’re offended?” Edward asks, smirking with his feet still up on the table.

Louis sits upright as he hides a yawn behind his hand. “Welcome back, Grumpy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“ _What_?” Louis looks very smug as he rests his feet on the table, right next to Edward’s. “You’re offended?”

Edward sighs. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Are you always a dick like this or is it special just for me?”

Edward risks a once-over, casually flicking his eyes from Louis’ head to his feet resting on the table. His hair looks like a bird’s nest and he has alcohol stains on his shirt: he is a fucking mess. But... a pretty one at that. It’s impossible to miss the sharp features of his face, his pointy nose, and striking blue eyes. So he is a pretty little terror machine, that’s what he thinks.

“Special for you.” 

“Why?”

“Because you’re annoying,” Edward answers simply.

“Well, why don’t you just fuck off then?”

“ _Because_ ,” Edward says with too much emphasis, “you need a babysitter.”

Louis frowns. “I do not.”

Edward scoffs through his nose. “You do indeed.”

“And you think you’re qualified for the job?”

“I’m qualified for a lot of things.”

He sees Louis raising an eyebrow in his peripheral. “I doubt that.”

Honestly, it is bad enough that he has to look after this tosser; he absolutely does _not_ need to hear his gibberish. He turns to him and says, “Look.” He tries to be as calm as he can. “All you have to do is sit still and be normal for a while. Can you do that?”

Louis looks him in the eye. “Define _normal_.”

Edward takes the deepest breath ever.

Louis puts down his feet and turns to him on the couch. “I know you’re not really fond of me, but you insist on babysitting so. Why don’t we make it fun?”

“What do you mean?”

Louis grins slyly. “I have an idea.”

“Sounds terrifying.” Edward looks at him warily. “But do go on.”

Louis looks pointedly at something at the back of the room. Edward follows his eyes and regrets it immediately. The beer pong table.

“Forget it,” he says, not really in the mood for more trouble. Also, he promised Harry to keep him alive so, _no way_.

“Why not?” Louis actually _pouts,_ like a six-year-old.

“You’re already drunk.”

“I feel fine.”

“Then you can go find your friends.”

“Not _that_ fine.”

Edward gives him a jaded look but Louis goes on. “They’re all probably trashed anyway. You can just get me a taxi and send me on my way if it’s gonna make you feel better.”

Harry, he thinks. It’d make _Harry_ feel better, but he keeps his mouth shut about it.

“Come _on_ , Grumpy.” Louis pushes him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s just beer. I swear I’ll take it easy on you, I might even let you win.”

Edward scoffs. “You wish,” he says.

Then he gives in.

 

**_01:31 am_ **

Louis really wasn’t enjoying it when Niall brought him a tray of fireballs and dared him to drink them all, because it got him into a situation that he _still_ can’t explain and he also started seeing triple. It’s not as fun as it sounds, even when he saw three Harrys-- and they were all _incredibly_ attractive, okay?

But now he feels a lot better. At least, he can only see _one_ Harry so that must be a good sign. Also he is having _fun_. Like, actual, genuine fun. He never guessed a round of beer pong could cheer him up this much, but here he is, cheerful as fuck, throwing balls and splashing beer all over the place. He’s not sleepy anymore. Not in the slightest. He feels energetic, like he’s ready to pull an all-nighter no sweat. He does need more beer though.

Luckily, he’s got a table full of beer in front of him.

“Drink up, armrest,” Harry shouts from the other side of the table, slamming his hands on the surface having just made his next shot. “Drink it, drink it, drink it!”

And Louis chugs the cheap beer, accepting defeat. At least he still has more cups than Harry does. He positions himself before he throws his ball….and sinks it! The next goes in just as easy- nailing the shot before Harry has even finished the last beer.

“Ha!” he shouts, only two more to go. “That’s another shot for me,” he taunts, gesturing for the ping pong ball back.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Balls back somehow wasn’t a thing on _my_ turn little one, so it sure as hell isn’t for you.” Harry doesn’t even frown, clearly enjoying the game. He drinks the beer, throws the cup away, then cracks his knuckles and shoots. The ball bounces on the table before going into one of Louis’ cups. “ _Fuck_ me that was a perfect shot. Drink two.”

Louis rolls his eyes but laughs anyway, and quickly drinks two of his cups. They go on like that for a while but then Harry runs out of cups and Louis wins.

“I win.” Louis declares without missing a beat. “Are you crying? Was I too hard on you?”

Harry walks up to his side of the table to chug down Louis’ last full cup. He throws it on the floor. “You just got lucky, squirt.”

He looks flushed and sweaty, his eyes are a little unfocused but still fixed on Louis. There are wild curls framing his face and he stumbles a little. “Are you drunk?” Louis asks, his voice full of amusement.

“Just a little…” Harry rests his hand on the table like he is trying to play it cool. He clears his throat once. “Tipsy,” he says.

“You did drink a lot of beer, though.”

“Don’t look too smug about it,” he says and suddenly stops to think, possibly for a ridiculous nickname to call Louis. “... _Minnie Mouse_.” Ha, Louis called it.

“Is that really the best you can come up with?”

Harry must think he’s got a point because he starts thinking again. “I should’ve gone with ‘over-sized mouse’, right?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “No, not really.”

“What about knee-high?” he tries again.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Absolutely not.”

“Shortstop?”

“No.”

“Danny Devito?”

Louis laughs but hits him in the shoulder. “That’s rude!”

Harry laughs as he catches his hand. There is an intense look on his face and everything stops for a moment. Those same lips, the lips that he kissed an hour ago, are close to his face again but somehow it feels completely different this time. Louis doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him, why it feels like the man in front of him is not the one he kissed before. But nothing in the last three hours made any sense so why should he expect to feel rational about this?

When Harry takes a step towards Louis, he feels drunk again. Everything’s turning except the curly haired man in front of him, like he is the only thing strong enough to help Louis keep his feet firmly on the ground.

“Grumpy,” he speaks quietly, tries to take a tiny step back but there’s a huge table behind him and he is pretty much trapped between Harry and it. He shouldn’t want to kiss him again since they are both drunk, but he really can’t stop staring at his lips. God, he _hates_ those lips. They keep confusing his head every time he tries to be reasonable, and he ends up doing stupid shit like kissing Harry. For the second time.

“You’re the worst babysitter I’ve ever seen,” Louis says.

Then stands on his tiptoes to kiss him.

 

**_11:41 pm_ **

Harry is only one drink in when he sees _him_.

The thing is, he is talking to a really nice guy who insists on getting his next drink when it happens. They are in an over-crowded living room, music loud enough to make him have to shout in order to be heard. But somehow, _he_ is even louder. He is standing a couple feet away from Harry, laughing and talking with exaggerated gestures. He’s got a circle of people around him and they kind of look like a solar system with _him_ being the center of everything, like he is the sun and the others are just planets circling around him, wanting to get a little bit of his light.

He looks so alive, is the thing. He is talking about something Harry can’t even hear but somehow thoroughly enjoys even from afar. Just looking at him, watching him _be_ , puts an uncontrollable smile on Harry’s face. Which is rude of him really because there’s someone very kind next to him, clearly interested in flirting, offering him drinks.

He stops staring, not very easily but fast enough, without Jon (or Jonny?) noticing his lack of attention. He is talking about a class they probably attend together, making comments about the teacher, and complaining about the paper that is due next week.

He makes an effort to join him in the conversation. Jonny seems friendly and funny, Harry thinks. But it doesn’t take long for his attention to be turned back towards the sun. He feels like they are from different galaxies for a moment, especially when the boy’s group of friends start getting closer to him while chanting very loudly. He seems to be drinking shots. He looks amusingly animated when he slams down the empty shot glasses, blinking his eyes and cursing loudly. Harry can’t help but let out a tiny chuckle at that.

But he isn’t as lucky as he was before, considering Jonny has just picked up on where he is looking and now Harry is blushing wildly. This was very rude of him.

“I’ll just hang out with my friends for awhile,” Jonny says, still smiling kindly. “You can join us later, if you feel like it.”

Harry can only give him an apologetic look before Jonny starts walking to his group of friends. He takes a deep breath and turns on his heels to find his brother frowning at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, genuinely curious because Harry really did look like a nutter back there.

He just shrugs and reaches for his drink. “Nothing,” he says, word coming out of his mouth a little rushed.

Marcel adjusts his glasses on his nose, then looks directly at something somewhere behind Harry’s back. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

Harry panics for a second, but then he looks at his brother and sees his relaxed smile. He saw it. Great.

“How did you even-” he starts but stops abruptly. Marcel was nothing if not quick and observant. It mustn’t have taken much to see how embarrassingly affected Harry is by the guy who shines like the sun, being the clever one and all that. “Was I too obvious?” he asks instead.

Marcel grins, looking very pleased at hitting home. “You were,” he says, casually leaning on the table. “But he is a little too intoxicated to notice.”

Harry turns his head to glance the boy’s way once more. He looks like he regrets his decision of drinking all those shots. Knowing how quickly they can go to your head, Harry can easily relate.

“You going in or what?”

He turns to Marcel who is obviously in his party mode, wearing a black Iron Maiden shirt he probably snatched from Edward’s wardrobe, paired with comfy looking jeans. He looks nice and indulgent. Harry loves him a lot.

“He has a bit of a crowd,” he tells him, not really wanting to broadcast his shyness. He doesn’t always get this way, usually more sociable, but there’re just too many people around the boy. They practically have him covered like a human shield, and Harry doesn’t want to risk the awkward first impression his having to elbow his way through them would create. “I think I’m just gonna wait until he is alone.”

Marcel puts a hand on his shoulder, lightly nudging him with a gentle look on his face. “Chicken.”

Harry chuckles and downs the rest of his drink. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick.”

“‘Course.”

He manages to not look at the boy as he leaves the crowded room. Sure he might be drunk, but one of the boy’s sober friends could catch him looking and get weird about it. He’s just gonna have to wait for the right moment when he has fewer people around.

He heads to the bathroom with big steps, locks the door, and washes his hands and face. His untamed curls are everywhere but mostly in his face, so he tries to push his locks away with wet hands. Checking himself one last time in the mirror, he unlocks the door and steps out.

No sooner than he does though, there’s someone suddenly in his arms, nearly crashing him to the ground.

“What the _fuck_?”

So, Harry is only one drink in when he sees him. And everything goes batshit crazy after that.

 

**_02:02 am_ **

Harry is about to go upstairs when he spots Marcel in the corner. He looks dreary, his glasses resting on his head as he sips on a drink. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, lifting his head and squinting to make out Harry in the crowd. For some reason he looks even more troubled than he did before. Harry frowns as he starts walking towards Marcel. He tries to split the human barrier between them with his shaky muscles.

He has been looking for Louis’ friends for the last forty minutes and along the way he had to stop for a chat a few times because the place is full of people he is friends with. Every time someone stopped him for small talk he couldn’t just interrupt them and be on his way because he is a _kind_ motherfucker. He even ended up having a few while chatting with them, and now more alcohol runs through his veins, making everything a little blurry and his head a lot unclear. He manages to reach his brother though.

“Hey,” he says, looking at him with deep concern. “You alright?”

Marcel closes his eyes, making Harry crazy worried in the blink of an eye because this is _Marcel_ , the _optimistic_ one.

“Come on, love, tell me what’s wrong.” He reaches out to stroke his forearms gently.

“‘m fine.”

Harry cracks a smile. “You can’t lie for shit, Selly.”

Marcel rolls his eyes at that. He hates the name Selly, has been hating it since he was five. “Really, Haz. I’m okay. Just needed a break is all.”

So Harry drops it.

“Did you find his friends?”

Harry takes a sip from Marcel’s drink, making his brother frown. “No, they probably left.”

“Oh.”

“I talked to Zayn, though. He said Louis could crash here. Got him a room and everything.”

Zayn is one of the fraternity leaders who actually knows Louis. He is also the head of the house. When Harry found him he told Harry about Niall Horan, Louis’ best friend. He said, “He was high as a kite the last time I saw him, might be sleeping in one of the dumpsters in the back garden.” It seemed really useless trying to find and talk to him after that, so Harry gave up looking for this Horan kid.

“Where is he now?”

“Upstairs. With Edward.”

Marcel bites the inside of his lip. “Is it okay if I go home?”

Harry pats his cheek. “Sure thing, love. Want me to get you a taxi?”

“It’s okay.” Marcel murmurs and Harry lets go after kissing his forehead.

He heads upstairs where the music is lower and people are fewer and the air is much cleaner because of the open balcony door. He hums to the beat of the song as he goes, his steps firm, the sweat clinging to the back of his shirt already dry. He has to remind himself to take a long shower when he gets home; he hopes it will be soon enough. He goes straight into the room where he left Louis.

He is a bit surprised to find him making out with his brother. On the beer pong table. Like, a proper snog.

 _Well_. That’s what he calls a fucking twist.

He takes slow steps into the room and stands behind them as he crosses his arms. They don’t look like they are about to stop so he decides to make himself known by clearing his throat, loudly.

As soon as Louis opens his eyes, he looks like he is in pain. “Oh no.” he says, pushing himself away from Edward. “It’s happening again.”

Edward looks puzzled for a second but quickly follows his gaze. His unfocused eyes find Harry’s and he takes a deep breath. Like he knows what’s in store for him.

“On a scale of one to ten-” Edward starts but Harry interrupts.

“Eleven.” he says sternly. “You’re in big trouble.”

Edward rolls his eyes and backs away from Louis, who is looking at the pair with an extremely confused expression. Harry’ll have to deal with him later. His irresponsible brother comes first. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he asks, voice full of frustration. “He is _drunk_.”

Edward pushes his wild hair out of his face. “So am I.”

“You were supposed to look after him!”

“I was supposed to have _fun_.” Edward corrects him with a careless expression on his face.

Which makes Harry even more frustrated. “Get out,” he says. “I’m going to take him to a room where he can crash for the night.”

Edward looks like he wants to protest for a moment but then decides to leave it, clearly not in the mood for drama. He knows by the look on his brother’s face that Harry means business. He is pretty fucking serious about this. About _Louis_. For some fucked up reason. So he inhales deeply, looks at the pretty boy on the beer pong table one last time, and leaves the room.

After that, Harry turns to Louis, who looks like he’s about to pass out at any moment. An awkward silence surrounds them, and Harry suddenly feels very tired. He’s been looking for Louis’ friends since practically midnight-- friends he had wanted to get rid of in the first place so he could just introduce himself to Louis with a cheesy pick-up line. The two would drink some cocktails and then Harry would get his number to call him when he’s sober and ask him if he’s up for lunch this weekend. It would be easy. It would be _appropriate_.

But now it’s all a mess because Louis is even more drunk than he was before, and in the morning he probably won’t even remember he made out with Harry’s brother. He won’t even remember Harry. They didn’t even _meet_ yet. Not properly.

“Harry?” Louis asks from where he is sitting. His voice sounds uncertain, like he isn’t sure what to call him.

Harry uncrosses his arms as he steps closer. “Let’s get you to your room,” he says, carefully holding him by the hand as Louis hops down from the table.

Ten minutes later, Louis’ lying on a rusty bed. Harry manages to take his shoes off, as well as his socks, then wraps him in a soft looking blanket he finds in one of the closets. The room looks a lot like it belonged to a caveman, beer cans and empty junk food bags scattered all around the place. But it was still a room and Louis will be safe here. Not that he’s a child or anything but Harry wants the best for him, wants to know he is okay so he can sleep in his own bed comfortably tonight.

When he is done with everything, he assumes Louis’ fallen asleep already so he takes a step towards the door, but a dainty hand wraps around his wrist almost immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Louis whisper in the dark room. “I’ll behave this time, but please stay.”

Harry looks at him with confusion. He doesn’t know why Louis is apologizing, or what he means by saying ‘he will behave’? But something in his voice makes him want to stay.

Louis moves to make some space in the bed and lightly pulls Harry in by the wrist. “At least stay until I fall asleep,” he says with a hopeful smile. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

Harry should say no. It wouldn’t be right, plus he needs to go home to his brothers. Edward is probably moody, he isn’t the type of person to easily handle being wrong. Also, Marcel is sad and Harry still doesn’t know why.

So, Harry _is_ going to say no but then Louis blinks his eyes and says, “Please, _Harry_.”

Harry stays.

He carefully lies down by his side, their bodies not touching but Louis still holding his hand like he doesn’t trust Harry about his decision. When he is assured Harry will stay, he closes his eyes with a content hum. Harry watches his overwhelmingly long eyelashes wavering under the dim light coming from the bedside lamp next to them. He looks very pretty up close, his thin lips forming a faint smile, making his expression look peaceful, like he isn’t aware of the mess they are in. He probably isn’t. Too trashed to know anything but his name.

And Harry’s name apparently.

“I’m sorry,” Louis speaks, his eyes still closed, making Harry startle a little. He is good at faking asleep, it seems.

Harry lowers himself to whisper, “Why are you apologizing?”

“For kissing you,” Louis answers. “Twice.”

Harry’s brain short-circuits at that. Louis’ never kissed him. Not once. Not _twice_. He only kissed Edward, and it was one time. Or so Harry thought. “W-when was the first time you kissed me, Louis?”

Louis holds his hand tighter, like he doesn’t want Harry to leave any time soon. “We were on the couch. You were Speckles.”

Harry has no idea what Louis’ talking about. “Speckles?” he asks, his head perked up.

“You know, like, the glasses.” Louis murmurs. His voice has a slight raspiness to it, probably very close to drifting off.

“You kissed Marcel?” _Oh no_. The image of his brother looking pained flashes through his mind.

Louis lets out a sigh full of annoyance, eyes still closed. He draws himself closer to Harry, “Marcel, Speckles, Grumpy... _Harry_. Whatever your bloody name is.”

Fucking hell. Louis kissed _both_ of his brothers. Thinking they were _Harry_.

“Oh, god.” Harry inhales before wrapping an arm around Louis, making him draw himself even closer. “Quite a situation we got ourselves into, isn’t it?”

It makes Louis giggle into his pillow. “You talk funny,” he says. “I like it.”

Harry looks down at the boy he saw earlier that night, the boy who shined so bright it made Harry step back. He was the life of the party, the _sun_ . And now he is sleeping next to him, slender fingers intertwined with Harry’s long ones. It shouldn’t feel natural, but it does feel natural, it feels _good_.

Harry knows for a fact that things will change when Louis wakes up the next morning. He knows it will not feel as natural as it does now. So he stays until he is sure Louis’ asleep. Then he stays a little bit longer because it doesn’t hurt anyone, and _then_ he carefully untangles their fingers and leaves the room as quietly as possible.

 

**SECOND**

Louis is just about to take a sip from his first drink of the night when he sees him.

  ** _10:15 pm_**

He is sober as a preacher on Sunday, a full Guinness in his hands raised in the direction of his mouth when something in the distance stops him. _Someone_. He drops the pint on the table at the sight, making it thud loudly, a few drops splashing on his hand. It’s Harry. The guy he somehow knows but actually doesn’t. It’s like magic, if you ask him. He remembers basically nothing from that mysterious night-- he can only recall green eyes and wild curls and pink lips. And he knows it’s Harry Styles, some guy from the law department because that’s what Zayn told him when Louis woke up at his house that next morning with a terrible hangover. But even Zayn had no idea about what Louis was up to all night, only knew this Harry Styles kid was looking for Niall because ‘Louis drunkenly crashed on him in the bathroom’. Which explained nothing really. Niall’s last memory of the night is the weed Zayn got for him, and before that he only remembers Louis saying he wanted to go to the balcony to get some fresh air.

So, Louis gave up looking for answers. If it was really a big deal, Harry Styles would find him to kick his arse for giving him trouble all night. And he didn’t, so they are cool.

Louis never really considered that he might come across this mysterious Harry Styles again, and now he is kind of...panicking. He knows he is panicking because his hands have gone cold and his breathing is rapid, and _fucking hell_ , Harry is looking straight back at him with the same expression.

He feels Niall’s elbow in his side. “What’s wrong?”

He keeps his gaze on Harry. “That’s him,” he says, his voice giving his panicked state away. Niall perks up with excitement, quickly following his gaze.

“That’s Harry?” he asks, way too loud. Louis closes his eyes to give himself a moment. He takes deep breaths to get his brain working again. He needs to quit being a bloody coward and go talk to him. Apologize for being a possible pain in the arse. God only knows what happened that night-- he has a slight memory of a snog but he might be making it up in his head. Drunk Louis isn’t really the best Louis.

Niall drags him out of the booth by the arms. “Go talk to him,” he says, practically kicking his arse out. “You owe the kid big.”

Louis swats at him because _yes_ , he knows that, _Niall_ , there’s no need to remind him of it. He gets out of the booth on shaky legs and  leaves his beer on the table on purpose: no alcohol will be involved _this_ time, that lesson is clearly learned. So he takes slow but steady steps to the other side of the pub, to _Harry_ , lifting his head up to look at him as he does so.

But then…He sees something crazy.

 _Alright_ . Louis has never deemed himself a lunatic. _Yes_ , he peed on Niall’s potted flower once, just because he could and, _yes_ , he’d once shaved Liam’s right eyebrow to see how quickly it would grow back before but, he is not, in fact, a lunatic.

He can, at least, tell people’s faces apart when he is sober. There can’t be more than one Mick Jagger lookalike in a local pub like this one, right? But somehow, there is not one, not two, but _three_ guys sitting across the bar, looking just like Jagger _and_ each other.

 _Triplets_. That’s the word. Three identical faces with only slight differences like glasses, headbands, and tattoos, sitting there minding their own business. And there’s Louis Tomlinson, in the middle of a pub, trying to convince himself that he is not in fact a lunatic and this is all real. He quickly pinches himself to make sure he is not dreaming. He is not. This is not a fucking nightmare.

When one of them sends him a wary smile, he thinks he is going to faint. There are three of them and he doesn’t even know which one is Harry. _What the actual fuck_?

“Hey,” the one with the longest hair speaks in an attentive tone. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Louis feels his hands shake as he sits down on the empty seat next to the one with the glasses. He smiles at him, kind enough to make Louis feel frustrated.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Not really taking his eyes off of the blushing nerd. “You’re Speckles.” he says all of a sudden. His heart almost stops as soon as he says it because _what the fuck, Louis? Even a lunatic like you should have some manners_.

The blush never leaves his face but he starts smiling again at the nickname. “Hey, Lou.”

Okay, they are definitely on a nickname basis then.

“Wonder if he’s gonna recall _my_ nickname.” Someone speaks to no one in particular. Especially not Louis. He frowns as he looks at the one with the ridiculous headband. He looks like he just discovered The Rolling Stones, a démodé looking headband tied on his head to keep the curls away. He looks cocky and Louis has no idea what he’s talking about  but, being a cocky one himself, he snaps right away because he just has to have the last word.

“Keith Richards wannabe?” he assumes, one curved eyebrow arched high like he’s challenging him to say one more word.

He doesn’t. He only gives him a dashing smile and _okay_ , alarmingly similar smiles are all over the place and Louis is very attracted.

He turns to the other one, who is watching the scene in front of him with his tender looking face. He is smiling too. Louis is on alert now. Hot guys with tender faces are the most dangerous ones.

“You’re Harry.” he says. “I remember you.”

He looks adorably delighted to hear that. “That’s good, Louis.” A tiny bit of worry mixes with delight as he says, “Hope this isn’t too much to handle.”

Louis snorts before he can stop himself. “I can see there are three of you,” he speaks, a little too loud. “And I’m not bonkers. Or drunk.”

Keith Richards mumbles quietly. “Not so sure about the first one.”

“Is it possible that your nickname was ‘twat’?”

Twat smirks. “Close,” he says. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I don’t really know what happened…” he stops to weirdly gesture around the booth,  struggling to find the right word. He settles for, “ _Here_." 

The three look at each other in a way Louis can’t quite figure out. Something like telepathy goes on and he feels left out.

Then Harry takes a breath and starts telling him about their wild night. He tells him how Louis kissed two of his brothers thinking they were Harry; how he almost bit Edward’s (the headband brother) left ear off on the way to the balcony; how he made out with him on a beer pong table (Edward looks too smug about it-- Louis has to kick his feet under the table); how Marcel got depressed about kissing the guy Harry had his eye on before and how he wanted to do it again but felt guilty about it; how Louis asked Harry to stay at the end of the night, making him lay down next to him in the bed...

It’s a lot to take in. Louis needs several moments. He goes to the bathroom, and splashes cold water on his face and neck, breathing deeply, before texting Niall that he’s fine and turning to head back to their booth. Harry and Marcel greet him with charming smiles; Edward just texts someone under the table.

“I’d like to start by apologizing,” he says, kicking Edward in the shin to get his attention. “I’m really sorry for ruining your whole night.”

They all look like they accept his apology. Apart from Edward who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Louis ignores him.

“It was quite a night but we didn’t mind.” Marcel shrugs like it’s no big deal.

Harry agrees with him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Everyone looks at Edward, expecting him to say something nice and forgiving. “How tall are you?” he asks instead. Getting another kick in the shin in return.

Louis sighs. “Glad we got that covered then,” he says. There’s a silence after that. It’s like an elephant is sitting in the middle of their table that no one’s acknowledging. Louis clears his throat once like he wants someone to say something. He hates silences.

“So, I was gonna ask you out that night but then...Uhm, things got complicated.” Harry finally breaks the silence. He looks nervous as he says, “I want to ask you now. If that’s okay.”

Louis holds his breath as Harry tries to build up his confidence and opens his mouth to say, “Would you like to go on a date with us?”

“What do you mean _with us_?” Louis is quick to ask, his heart almost missing a beat.

He catches Marcel biting his lip nervously in the corner of his eye. Harry gives Louis a delicate look-- he looks worried. Louis has no idea what the hell is going on right now. So he releases the impatient breath he was holding.

Harry looks like he wants to get this over with as he says, “Would you like to go on a date with me and my brothers?”

Louis freezes on the spot. _Me and my brothers_ . A date with him _and_ his identical brothers. As in, with the three of them. Going on a date with three of the Styles brothers.

That’s fucking crazy. Even for Louis Tomlinson who _invented_ crazy. He can’t possibly date three people at the same time, that’s so wrong and...And _\--fuck_.

Fuckity fucking fuck.

It should sound absurd, because it’s inappropriate. It’s unlikely. Not right. He can’t do it, he shouldn’t do it. It’s a complication, an immoral one at that. It would be the craziest thing he’d ever done and probably ever will.

Him and the boys. _The triplets_.

It’s the biggest load of bullshit he has ever heard but he _wants_ it. He is totally up for a date with them. He has faint memories about each one in his head. Talking about that night brought back a lot more than he thought was possible. Now he knows which one was who, which ones he kissed, which one he didn’t kiss. The one he held hands with, sleeping under a dirty blanket. The one who called him funny names, full of wit and salt but just the perfect amount of banter. The one who gave him his jacket because he got cold on the balcony.

He wants it. He wants _this_ . He wants Marcel, he wants to talk about Doctor Who’s next season with him while playing with his curls. He wants Harry, he wants to touch his face, his lips, his _eyelashes_ and dimples, maybe even kiss them. He wants Edward, he wants to call him funny names while getting drunk with him and end up cuddling him on the floor.

But how? How could they make this work out? It’s never gonna work out. This is just a fucked up fantasy. They are related, for God’s sake.

He closes his eyes and considers going to the bathroom again. To gain himself some time and sanity but he knows even cold water wouldn’t help him right now.

So he looks at Harry’s face instead. His warm green eyes feels magnetic, Louis can’t help but be pulled in. He can see there’s safety in there, along with kindness and a huge amount of respect and love. You can see he is polite and gentle just by the look in his eyes. It’s very clear that Harry loves his brothers, that they have an extraordinary connection only they can understand. And now, they are willing to welcome Louis into this special bond.

How could he say no to that? It may be doubtful that they can manage this but they can always try, can’t they? Louis has always been a man of bravery, doing the things no one else can even dare. Always risking it, always going for trouble. The menace, the adventurer, the extreme one. He may not be able to go all the way, but he can take a step. He can try this.

He crosses his arms as he rests his back against the booth and tangles his feet with Marcel’s under the table. “So, a date with you lot?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as he tilts his head to the side, obviously fondly mocking. “Even with Edward?”

Harry cracks a smile. Marcel chuckles and puts a warm hand on Louis’s thigh.

Edward gives him an annoyed look but then quickly gives up and rolls his eyes, “ _Yes_ , Strawberry Shortcake.” he says. “Even with me.”

Louis smiles and let's him have the last word just this once.

 

**CODA**

They are a few drinks in when they see it.

 

The thing about being in a four-way relationship is that there are a lot of limbs involved. Being a cuddly fucker who just loves a good embrace, Louis sometimes can’t tell whose arm is around his waist, pulling him back from reaching for another drink;or whose toes are under his armpits, trying to tickle him for the last fifteen minutes without giving up. Sometimes it’s suffocating, because you can only cuddle so many people before someone’s finger is in your eye or Edward gives you an awkward boner while trying to warm up his cold hands between your thighs. But when Louis’ having a bad day, it’s always nice to know that he owns three cuddle-machines. They are especially incredibly helpful with headaches and cold nights. He loves his boys. And he is sure fate has a funny way of working because his boys love him back.

Each has a different way of loving, though, all unique and perfect in their own way. Louis doesn’t think it gets any better than this. He had the average amount of happiness in his life before meeting them but now his happiness is tripled. As well as his sex drive, but that’s a story for another time.

Now they are in Harry’s living room, having another cuddle session because Marcel got a B- in microbiology and is very sad about it. Louis really can’t relate; he could barely _pass_ biology in highschool, so he can’t do much besides hugging him and playing with his curls. Harry just tells Marcel it’s okay and breaks out a pan of chocolate brownies he baked this morning. But Edward’s having the most fun now that he has a chance to make jokes about Louis’ “microbiology”.

There are empty bottles everywhere because somewhere along the way Marcel got really serious about his grade and declared that his situation required real booze. So they now have their drinks in their hands, mouths full of brownie, their legs and arms a tangled mess on the floor. They look silly, but happy nonetheless. In a ridiculous sort of way.

In the midst of the cuddle pile, Louis meets eyes with Harry. Slowly, they break into grins. It’s painfully obvious that this turned out to be heaven on earth for all of them. Louis’ really glad he gave this a try and Harry’s happy that he can share something as beautiful as Louis with the two people he cares about the most.

So, they are a few drinks in when they see it. And everything goes more than alright after that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> lol i've never been drunk in my entire life can you tell
> 
> im [flowerboyharry](http://flowerboyharry.tumblr.com/) on tumblr x


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